“You’re letting a ball boy position major-league prospects?”

Leonard answered calmly.

“For ten pitches.”

“This is insane.”

“Then it will be over in ten pitches.”

The scouts moved closer.

Now Marcus wished he could disappear.

It had been easier when nobody cared.

He had made two predictions because he saw something.

Now they expected magic.

Leonard noticed his expression.

“You nervous?”

Marcus nodded.

“Good.”

“That’s good?”

“It means you understand failure exists.”

Marcus swallowed.

“What if I’m wrong?”

“Then you’re wrong.”

“And?”

“And we learn something.”

Marcus looked at Brent.

Brent was still angry.

Leonard followed his eyes.

“Do not perform for him.”

Marcus looked back.

“Do not perform for me either.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Watch baseball.”

That helped.

Marcus breathed.

Ten pitches.

First.

Cole hid his target late.

Trevor stayed neutral.

Marcus moved nobody.

Ground ball up the middle.

Second.

Marcus noticed the pitcher’s release, not the catcher.

He shifted second base two steps toward first.

Soft grounder.

Exactly there.

Third.

Wrong.

Marcus moved left field shallow.

Trevor doubled over his head.

Brent smiled.

“One.”

Marcus nodded.

Fourth.

No shift.

Strikeout.

Fifth.

Marcus moved first baseman one step off the line.

Wrong again.

Ground ball through the hole.

“Two,” Brent said.

Leonard ignored him.

Sixth.

Marcus watched Trevor rub his left thumb against the bat handle.

He had done it twice before inside pitches.

Marcus shifted third base closer to the line.

Hard foul.

Not in play.

No result.

Seventh.

Marcus moved right field toward the line.

Fly ball center.

Wrong.

“Three.”

Marcus’s face became warm.

The magic was disappearing.

Good.

Because it had never been magic.

Eighth.

Marcus said:

“Leave them.”

Line drive gap.

Center fielder caught it.

Ninth.

Marcus watched Cole.

Nothing obvious.

Then he watched Trevor’s back shoulder.

Trevor was sitting slightly taller.

Marcus pointed at left-center.

“Center two steps left.”

The pitch came inside.

Trevor stayed through it.

Deep fly left-center.

The center fielder moved two steps and caught it.

Leonard wrote.

Tenth.

Marcus watched everyone.

Cole.

Pitcher.

Trevor.

Infield.

Nothing.

He shook his head.

“No move.”

Brent smiled.

“Scared?”

Marcus said:

“No.”

“Then make a call.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Come on, genius.”

Leonard looked sharply at Brent.

Marcus kept watching.

“No move.”

The pitch came.

Trevor took it.

Ball outside.

No swing.

Leonard closed his notebook.

“Good.”

Brent laughed.

“He missed three.”

Leonard nodded.

“Yes.”

“You call that good?”

“I call it honest.”

Brent looked confused.

Leonard turned toward Marcus.

“Why no call on ten?”

“I didn’t see enough.”

“You could have guessed.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because guessing would make the other calls meaningless.”

Several scouts looked at one another.

That answer mattered more than Marcus realized.

One of them wrote it down.

Brent had no response.

Leonard asked:

“How many did he get right?”

A scout counted.

“Four strong.”

“Two neutral.”

“Three misses.”

“One no-call.”

Leonard nodded.

“Not magic.”

Marcus almost smiled.

Leonard looked at him.

“Good baseball thinking.”

That afternoon, Marcus went back to collecting baseballs.

That surprised Brent.

He expected Leonard to turn the entire day into a celebration.

Leonard did not.

Marcus still had a job.

He finished it.

He carried screens.

Emptied coolers.

Collected balls.

At 4:40, when most players had left, Leonard found him near the equipment tunnel.

“You have a ride?”

“My mom gets off at six.”

“How were you getting home?”

“Bus.”

Leonard looked outside.

The facility sat miles from the nearest major route.

“How long?”

“About an hour and forty minutes.”

Leonard stared.

Marcus shrugged.

“I have homework.”

“You do homework on the bus?”

“Yes.”

Leonard laughed softly.

Then he handed Marcus a card.

Not money.

Not a promise.

A card.

“Call this number tonight.”

Marcus looked at it.

It belonged to a baseball development center connected with the organization.

“What is this?”

“Evaluation.”

“For what?”

“You.”

Marcus frowned.

“As a player?”

“As Marcus Hale.”

That answer confused him.

Leonard explained.

“I do not know yet whether your future is as a player.”

“I do not know whether it’s coaching.”

“Scouting.”

“Analytics.”

“Catching.”

“Something else.”

“But I know nobody has measured enough.”

Marcus looked at the card.

“How much?”

“Nothing.”

Marcus looked suspicious.

Leonard smiled.

“That question tells me you’ve been paying attention to life too.”

“My mom will ask.”

“She should.”

“You sure it’s free?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because today you made professionals stop and reconsider what they thought they were seeing.”

Marcus looked down.

Leonard continued.

“That deserves a closer look.”

The evaluation happened Saturday.

Marcus arrived with his mother, Renee Hale.

Renee wore navy work pants because she had come directly from the hospital.

She shook Leonard’s hand and immediately said:

“I don’t have money for one of those private programs.”

Leonard answered:

“I’m not selling one.”

“Travel team?”

“No.”

“Equipment fees?”

“No.”

“Registration?”

“No.”

She stared.

“So what do you want?”

Marcus quietly said:

“Mom.”

“No.”

She looked at him.

“I have signed too many papers that magically become expensive later.”

Leonard respected her instantly.

“We want to evaluate him.”

“For free.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Leonard explained the showcase.

Renee looked at Marcus.

“You moved a professional outfielder?”

“He wasn’t major league yet.”

“That is not the part I’m questioning.”

Marcus looked away.

Leonard laughed.

Then the evaluation began.

Marcus’s measurable tools were exactly what his school record suggested.

Average runner.

Solid but not elite throwing arm.

Good hands.

Compact swing.

Contact ability.

Limited power.

Nothing screamed future superstar.

Brent Lawson would have felt vindicated.

Leonard did not care.

Then they tested reaction.

Video recognition.

Situational decisions.

Pitch sequencing.

Defensive positioning.

Marcus excelled.

A screen showed two seconds of a hitter’s setup.

Video stopped before the pitch.

“Where is he vulnerable?”

Marcus answered.

Another.

“What changes?”

Marcus noticed the back elbow.

Another.

A catcher crouched behind the plate.

“What do you see?”

“Target too early.”

Another.

“Nothing.”

Leonard paused.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Most kids make something up.”

“There’s nothing useful.”

They moved to game situations.

Runner first.

One out.

Left-handed pull hitter.

Pitcher slow to plate.

“What matters?”